Catching Up

lowryandleaf
Sep 1
5 min read

Catching Up: 2025 Has Been a Wild Ride

It’s been a while since I shared about our family, and honestly, 2025 has been nothing short of overwhelming, exhausting, and deeply emotional. Life with Maybel and her Type 1 Diabetes is a constant balancing act—between love and fear, joy and exhaustion, planning and chaos. Some days feel like walking a tightrope with no safety net, and yet, there are moments so beautiful they make everything worth it.

Mother’s Day started with a trip to the tulips in Holland, Michigan. I wanted it to be a peaceful trip, full of color and laughter, but even in that calm, T1D didn’t give us a break. Maybel had high blood sugar, and I found myself checking her numbers constantly, making mid-trip corrections, and worrying about how she was feeling. It wasn’t the carefree Mother’s Day I’d imagined. I watched her squint against the sun, smile at the flowers, and try to enjoy the day despite feeling off. Even at 5 years old, she’s learning that diabetes doesn’t pause for special occasions. That day reminded me how much courage she carries quietly, and how much I need to carry alongside her.

We’ve made multiple trips to Lake Michigan over the summer—some just the three of us, me, Maybel, and Magnus, and others with friends. On the surface, it looks like fun: sand, waves, and sunshine. But every adventure is shadowed by the logistics of T1D. Packing is a full-on operation: insulin, meters, snacks, juice, emergency supplies, backup clothes, and the mental weight of “what if” for every moment. On one family trip, we ran out of insulin—a terrifying scenario that no parent should ever face. I felt panic rise in my chest, a knot that didn’t release until we were able to safely correct it. The stress was exhausting, but seeing Maybel continue to play, laugh, and explore reminded me of her strength. Even when her body is struggling, she refuses to let it steal her joy.

Friends from Vermont came to visit this spring, and we met them at the zoo and the museum. These smaller outings seemed simple, but T1D made them anything but. Every new environment meant extra vigilance—checking her sugar before and after snacks, adjusting insulin for unexpected treats, all of the luggage and ensuring she wasn’t overexerting herself. Maybel sometimes got frustrated with having to stop and test, but she’s learning to advocate for herself. Seeing her navigate that at 5 years old is both heartbreaking and inspiring. I want her to be carefree, but diabetes makes that complicated.

Maybel turned 5 this May. It should have been pure joy, and it was, but the celebration was threaded with worry. I had to manage highs and lows throughout the day, which meant I wasn’t always fully present. Watching her blow out candles, I felt both pride and guilt—pride for her bravery, guilt for the weight this disease places on a small child. She danced in her first-ever homeschooling dance, and I cheered her on, constantly mindful of her numbers. One miscalculation, one unnoticed low, could have ruined the night or left her feeling sick. That’s the invisible burden of T1D—always present, even during milestones.

We also kept busy with T-ball and soccer. On the field, highs make her irritable and shaky, and lows can leave her drained and quiet. It’s tough to see her struggle through something she enjoys, and yet she persists, learning the rhythms of her body and the limits she has to respect. Every practice, every game, is a negotiation between fun and safety, and I carry that worry with me constantly.

June brought her dance recital—a day that should have been purely exciting. Instead, it was a whirlwind of insulin adjustments, juice breaks, and constant monitoring. I watched her perform, feeling a mixture of awe, fear, and pride. She moved beautifully, smiling through the discomfort that highs and lows sometimes bring, and I was reminded again that this disease touches everything. Without the support of her teacher, doctors, friends, and community, it wouldn’t have been possible.

Maybel also participated in her first Type 1 Diabetes awareness walk at Notre Dame. Watching her walk proudly among other children and families living with T1D was emotional. She saw she isn’t alone, but I saw the weight this disease carries for her—and for all of us. I held her hand tightly, both protective and proud, knowing that while we’re surrounded by a community, the challenges of T1D will never fully leave her side.

In between the big trips and milestones, we’ve enjoyed smaller joys: field trips to zoos, parks, and local adventures. Even these moments are threaded with T1D. I am always on alert, measuring, testing, correcting, and making quick decisions. It’s exhausting, and yet, watching her enjoy a sunny day, laugh with Magnus, or point excitedly at an animal reminds me why we do this—why we carry the weight, why we never let our guard down, and why we fight for her care and happiness.

2025 has been hard. Truly hard. On top of everything, Brett had back surgery this summer and was off work from May to August. That added its own layer of stress: juggling his recovery, the kids, homeschooling, work, and our fundraising efforts for Maybel’s service dog. Some nights I barely slept, up checking her for highs or lows while worrying about him and the rest of our lives. Every day is a delicate balancing act, and it’s exhausting in ways I can’t fully put into words.

And yet, through all of it, Maybel is living her best life. She’s learning, growing, exploring, and discovering her strength. She’s learning how highs and lows affect her body and how to communicate what she feels. Every laugh, every hug, every tiny victory reminds me that this life—difficult as it is—is full of moments worth every ounce of worry.

Diabetes is a part of our life, but it doesn’t define us. We celebrate the victories, big and small. We hold onto quiet moments. We cry, we laugh, we play, we fight, and we love—harder and deeper than ever. Every trip, every T-ball game, every soccer practice, every dance recital, every field trip, every hug, every community member who helps along the way—it all matters. It all makes this journey meaningful.

As we head into fall, the season of cozy moments and holidays, I know the wild ride isn’t over. But I also know that we are strong, we are loved, and we will keep moving forward—together.

Here’s to the rest of 2025: the learning, the love, the growth, the laughter, and yes, the highs and lows too. Every day is a step forward, and I wouldn’t trade a single one.